The Song of the Stormy Petrel

In 1901, no one could criticise the tsar directly and hope
to escape unhappy fate. The language calling for revolution is
coded — the proud stormy petrel, unafraid of the storm
(that is, revolution), as all other animals cower.

Gorky was arrested for publishing it, but released shortly thereafter.

Over the gray flatness of the sea the wind gathers storm-clouds. Between the clouds and the sea proudly soars the stormy petrel, as a streak of black lightning.

Now the waves on wingtip touching, now as an arrow shooting to the clouds, he screams, and — the clouds hear joy in the bird's proud cry.

In that cry — the lust of the storm! The power of anger, the flame of passion and certainty in victory hear the clouds in that cry.

The seagulls whimper before the storm, — whimper, toss about over the sea and are ready to hide their horror to its depths.

And the diver-birds also whimper, — the diver-birds cannot attain the joy of life's struggle: the thunder of lightning-bolts frightens them.

The stupid penguin cowardly hides its blubber in the rocks ... only the proud stormy petrel soars bold and free over the grey sea froth!

Ever darker and lower clouds drop to the sea, the waves singing and tearing to pieces to meet the thunder.

Thunder rumbles. In a froth of anger moan the waves, fighting the wind. See the wind grab waves in a powerful embrace, and in a fling, smash them at the rocks, beating emerald masses to drops and mist.

The stormy petrel soars with a scream, a streak of black lightning, as an arrow pierces the clouds, on wing-tip slicing the wave froth.

See him hover, like a demon — proud, black demon of the storm — he laughs, and cries ... he laughs atop the clouds, he cries with joy!

In the froth of anger — clever demon, — he has long heard weariness, he knows that the clouds won't defeat the sun — no, the sun will triumpth!

The wind roars ... Thunder rumbles ...

As a blue flame burn clouds over the sea's abyss. The sea catches arrows of lightning and snuffs them in her depths. As snakes of fire reflect those twisting bolts, vanishing.

— The storm! Soon will break the storm!

The bold stormy petrel proudly flies between the lightning and the frothing anger of the sea; now screams the prophet of victory: